Ghost of you
by sleepy-orange
Summary: But you’ve lived and you’ve loved, and I know that you were happy. AU take on stuff. It's Weever, but give it a try, anyways.


**A/N: Hello, all. It's really early in the morning, and I should be sleeping, but the muse struck and this is the product. The title is from a song by My Chemical Romance. All your reviews for my last effort really made my day, and so I hope you enjoy this just as much. Adios! - nadz**

It's dark outside and I'm cold, the thick warm blanket that I had wrapped around myself no longer on me, or around me as my groping fingers touch nothing but the bed.

You've taken the blanket again, haven't you?

You like to steal my blanket at night, especially when it's the coldest outside, just like when you stole my heart all those years ago, leaving me shivering on the bed, completely exposed to the night air. I don't know why you bother to steal it, it's big enough for both of us and I'm willing to share.

It's warmer anyway with you under it with me, your natural body warmth heating me up like a furnace, making me feel like I have a fever and there are ants all over me, making me squirm and writhe. Except without all the pain and discomfort usually associated with fevers and ant bites. There's no pain in what you're making me feel. Just… pleasure.

And now you've made me all hot again, warm enough that I no longer need the blanket, but still decidedly uncomfortable as I feel empty, hollow somehow. I rub my legs together, trying to relieve the pressure but only succeeding in intensifying it. My hand reaches out once again to your side of the bed, expecting to feel the lump of blankets hiding you, and you burrowed under it, curled up on your side, dark eyelashes brushing softly against your face as you breathe deeply in and out.

The first night we slept together, it had surprised me to find that you curl up in your sleep, back to the world as if you were protecting yourself against all its evils. And yet, oddly enough, it didn't seem so surprising because it was just so _you_.

You show the world this image of the bad boy, all decked out in black leather and bald head with tattoos as additional weapons for intimidation, but that's just a façade, it's not the real you. With me, you're all playful nips at my neck, soft enough that they wouldn't leave a mark, but hard enough to leave me arching into your touch; eyes darkened with lust that burn me right to my core, and talented fingers that do such terribly pleasurable things under the covers that they should be sinful. You don't hide from me; don't feel the need to choose between Eli, the man who recited me poetry the night he proposed, and Weevil, the hardcore badass who whispers dirty talk in my ear when we're having dinner with my dad.

Because to me, you're both of them. By day, when we're holding hands in the café just talking like any other couple, you're Eli; but by night, in the cover of darkness, when it's just the two of us, Weevil is the name that I scream out, the only name that my poor short-circuited brain can make out.

But I digress, and now I'm impatient again. My outstretched fingers touch nothing; find nothing but the sheets, so cold that it feels as if you hadn't gotten into bed at all. My sleep-muddled mind tries to remember the night before and if you had gone to bed with me.

And that's when I remember.

Your side of the bed is cold because you didn't get into it the night before. You didn't go to bed with me. You didn't even come home tonight. Or the night before. I haven't seen you for so long, haven't touched you or breathe in that scent that is all you in weeks. The room has started to lose your presence, like you've never lived here at all, never called it home.

As the tears that I have become accustomed to start to prick my eyes, I bury my face into your pillow, and I still call it yours even after all this time, trying to breathe in your scent. But it's no longer there, and that just frustrates me even more, making the tears come down faster and feel hotter as they burn a familiar path down my cheeks. Even as I'm beginning to remember things again, I'm forgetting everything else. I'm starting to forget what it feels like to touch you again, to have you by my side, to hear your voice, to see you playing with Isabella.

She was asking for your, that first day when you were gone, asking, "Where's daddy, mommy? Where's daddy?" She kept asking for you and all I could do was hug her tightly and tell her that you'll be back someday, even when I know that you won't. I hate lying to her, Eli, but what do you want me to do?

How do you expect me to tell our six-year-old daughter that her father is dead?

She missed you so much that for the first weeks, she kept having nightmares and crying out for you in her sleep. It broke my heart to watch her, and it reminded me so much of how broken I felt inside too. She had us worried there for a while, but she's doing a lot better now. She's stopped asking so much about you, and I think that in her own way, she's accepted that you're gone now. Logan's been an angel with her, taking her out, keeping her busy and distracting her to the point of exhaustion. All I hear nowadays is "Logan this, Logan that". She has a crush on him and I can only imagine the smirk on your face as you think about your daughter having a crush on Echolls.

But he's been great, Logan. And everybody else too: dad, Wallace, Duncan, even Lamb. They've all been trying to help, doing what they can in their own way. I nearly fainted from shock when Lamb turned up one night with a cake he had baked. Don't worry, I made him take a bite from it first to make sure it wasn't poisoned. They all smile and laugh and get back to their lives, but I can see that their smiles don't quite reach their eyes and their laughter sounds painful because it's forced. I love them for trying but they miss you.

_I_ miss you.

I miss you so so badly that it uses up so much of my energy just to stop myself from breaking every time someone mentions your name, every time I see a picture of you in the newspaper, every time Little Eli kicks in my tummy. I try to keep strong for Isabella because I know that that's what you would have wanted me to do. But it's hard, Eli. It's so hard when I wake up sometimes with no energy to even get out of bed, much less live; when I forget sometimes how to breathe because it hurts too much to do so, when the world seems to have lost all its colour and everything exists in black and white.

Sometimes the world's not fair, and all we can do is make the best of whatever has been given to us. Make orange juice from lemons, because lemonade is just disgusting and orange juice is much nicer. You taught me that. So, it wasn't fair for you to have been killed by a drunk driver, or for him to have lived while you died. He was a bum, and you had a family, a daughter, a wife and a son that you didn't know about yet, but who will love you with all his heart. But you've lived and you've loved, and I know that you were happy.

I know that you are happy right now, though maybe not now _now_ as you watch me cry, but I'll get over it soon. I'll never forget, but I'll find the happiness through remembering. It's not my time yet and I've still got a few things to do, but wait for me, okay?

Till then, night, _chico._


End file.
